Sunset
by Seishuku Skuld
Summary: Sol and Ky in the aftermath of yet another battle during the Crusades.


Sunset

By Seishuku Skuld (skuldhotohori@yahoo.com)

Series: Guilty Gear

Pairings: None, but its about Sol and Ky

Warnings: none

Author's notes:  A short ficlet that I got inspired with while chatting online with Roni, set in the days of the Holy War.

Disclaimers: Guilty Gear and all its characters belong to Sammy and are the children of Daisuke Ishiwatari.  I'm only taking care of them over the winter holidays. ^_~

Dedication: To the SolxKy mailing list.  ^_^  Happy Winter Holidays to you all.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The Gear groaned its last breath as Sol's sword pierced its skull and lodged deep into its brain.  It spasmed once or twice as the blade continued it descent, carving through flesh, releasing rivers of blood, until the point hit the ground and stopped sharply a few inches into the dead grass.  The sword would go no further, its hilt pressed flush against the monster's head.  

Sol waited until the rest of its body stopped moving, and the red eyes closed slowly, scaly eyelids falling over lifeless irises.  

Then there was silence.

Sol let out the breath he'd been holding in a rush, the warm waft of air immediately forming a white puff in front of his mouth.  It was cold he knew, he could see his breath but there was a hot sweat covering his body, dripping off strands of his hair and making his headband stick to his forehead even tighter than it usually did.  

He closed his eyes for a moment to clear his mind, numbed to stillness by the intensity of the fight.  There was a comforting blackness when his eyes were closed, and for a second even the glory of the golden sun dipping below he horizon was lost to him, and he was swathed in silence.  

He opened his eyes and pulled his blade out with difficulty, for it was lodged deep inside the Gear, and the corpse did not seem intent on return the weapon.  Black ichor poured out of the wound in a sudden gush as finally the sword was freed, some of it splashing onto his white Holy Order uniform, already dyed dark with blood—most of it belonging to the Gear he'd slain, but also mixed with his own.

He let the sword fall to his side as his grip slackened and he looked at the carnage about him.  The battle had been won, and now all was quiet around him as naught lay there but the bodies of Gears, the bodies of his comrades from the Order, and not a few feet away from where he stood Ky was dispatching the last of the remaining Gears with the Thunderseal.  

Sol took a deep breath, feeling the air rattled inside his lungs and took a step forward, making his away around the Gear cadaver to where Ky was, dislodging his blade from a gaping cleft in the monster's side.  The blond was covered in blood, the normally spotless white uniform now a deep midnight black.  Ky's hair was slicked to his forehead in sweat, the front strands of it ensanguined in sable, glittering with little highlights in the twilight.  

Ky turned his head as Sol approached him, the gaze of those azure eyes flickering for a moment, a hint of hesitation captured in the rays of the setting sun.  Ky looked at him, his eyes traveling from Sol's boots to his shoulders, and up to his face, there surveying his expression.  Sol bore that gaze with stony resilience, for he had seen that shadow of doubt flit across the boy's features.

Sol stood as Ky took the steps to draw nearer to him, those ice blue eyes melting with each stride.

Ky looked him in the eye, and in that one moment Sol almost shook.  Everything had passed between them then, more than had passed in the long hours they'd fought upon the battlefield, more than had ever transpired in the months they had spent together.  It was a look of despair, of exhaustion, and the deep sadness that only the innocents know when their naive wonderland is shattered.  It was a mosaic of all these things, of all the tragedy and death that the boy had seen; and beneath that gaze Sol nearly faltered. 

He too was tired, far too tired to still be doing all these things, and yet here he was standing tall, still standing strong and fighting.  And he saw no end to it, no end to the tears or the flow of blood, no end to the suffering, no end to the pain, and no rest for him, not even when the darkless, dawnless night would fall.  

He reached his hand out, and took Ky by the shoulders, Ky who was about to crumple.  Ky who must remain stout, a steady pillar of security amongst a rapidly decaying world.  

Sol would take that weariness away, and he did by drawing the boy into the circle of his embrace, pressing their bloodstained clothes together, pressing the boy's cheek against his shoulder.  Sol could be strong enough for them both in this moment when the sun was drawing its light into darkness and the battle had quieted, the dying laying down their lives and their hopes, the living dragging their spent bodies off the field and away from their slain friends and enemies.

Ky stayed silent, at first tense in Sol's arms, though the embrace only lasted a few seconds.  A few seconds and Ky was back on his feet, gently parting himself from the older man, wiping the sweat off his face, rivulets of clear liquid mingling with what could only be tears. 

"I'm fine," Ky whispered.  Sol simply nodded in response and released him.  

He would be fine for another day, for another battle.  

Sol waited until the boy turned from the Gear he had slain, and they both made their way back to the Holy Order encampment, Sol not five steps behind Ky as night drew its dark veil over the sky.

 Sol had survived yet another battle, and fought the weariness yet another day.  

Perhaps one day, Sol supposed, one day he might give into its shadow.  But not, he mused—as he watched Ky walking straight and proudly in victory—not today.  

*~the end~*


End file.
